


Trial By Combat

by sunkelles



Series: Femslash February 2015 [18]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe- Canon Divergence, F/F, Female Friendship, Femslash, Femslash February, Trial by Combat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:54:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3406334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunkelles/pseuds/sunkelles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa doesn’t flee King’s Landing and is accused along with Tyrion of Joffrey’s murder. Brienne is her champion in single combat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trial By Combat

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I put out a fic before I'm really pleased with it because I've been tweaking it for almost a month and cannot get it to the point where I'm really pleased with it. 
> 
> This is one of those times.

Her cell is dark, and musty, but at least it’s private. Sansa wonders if they’d afforded her father the same privilege before they took off his head. It’s been so long since then, she’s almost forgotten how it felt. She was certainly more scarred back then. She didn’t understand the world then, but at least she had things to lose. Now she understands the way things work, but she has nothing left to loose.

She did not conspire to murder the king, but she would have liked to. She doesn’t know how long she’s been down here. The guards dragged her down into the cells without a word, and no one has come to see her since.

 

She wonders if they’ll even give her a trial.

 

Sansa awakens as her door opens. She jolts awake in fright. A tall man- no, woman, suddenly appears in her cell.

“My lady,” she says. Sansa blinks, almost certain that the woman will disappear. She can’t possibly be real. But Sansa stares forward, and the woman continues to stand in front of her, the picture of awkwardness.

“Who are you?” Sansa asks softly.

“I am Brienne of Tarth,” she says, “I swore an oath to your mother that I would help bring you back to her.” Sansa laughs a strangled laugh.

“I’m not sure that will work,” she says with a bitter sort of humor in her tone.

“I cannot keep my oath,” the woman says, in a tone that seems pained, “but if you would have me, I would represent you in a trial by combat.” Sansa’s heart stops. Is this woman, who she has never met, really willing to risk her life to save her? Sansa sends her a quizzical look.

“They would allow that?” Sansa asks, because it seems unlikely. She’d suspect that Cersei wants her head if she thinks that Sansa had a hand in killing her precious, sadistic son.

“Yes,” Brienne says, “it’s your right.” Sansa examines her thoroughly. She wants so desperately to trust someone, but she hasn’t found anyone worthy of it. The queen was cruel, the prince was crueler, and Margaery has never lifted a finger to help her. She lifted one to run down Sansa’s back as they kissed, a few to snake inside her and bring out strained noises of pleasure, but never to help her. She shouldn’t trust this woman. She shouldn’t trust _anyone,_ but she finds herself wanting to.

“Why would you want to?” Sansa asks, because she needs to know. She needs to know if she can trust her.

“I swore an oath to your mother,” she says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I accept your pledge,” Sansa says, and though there’s a part of her that still doubts, most of her knows that she’s made the right decision. Some sort of remembrance passes over the knight’s face, a sadness that Sansa can’t trace.

Her gaelor opens the door, and glares at Brienne.

“Our time is up, my lady,” she says, and there’s something indescribably sad in her tone, “but I will be back as soon as I can.”

 

* * *

 

 

Loras walks into their shared antechamber and is greeted by Margaery’s cold glare. He doesn’t bother to speak, simply waits for Margaery to yell at him. She isn’t sure whether or not this makes her angrier.

“I can’t believe that you’re doing this,” she says. Loras smiles bitterly, which is a terrible look on him, and Margaery feels rage course through her veins.

“Why would you represent the crown in Sansa’s trial,” she demands. Margaery knows the answer, of course, but it still lights an angry fire deep within her gut. Loras wants to avenge Renly, and she understands that, by the Seven does she understand that. She just doesn’t understand why he has to drag Sansa down with him.

Loras says, “I can’t let that woman live.” Margaery laughs a harsh, bitter laugh. Margaery knows deep within her that Brienne was not responsible for Renly’s death. The woman is loyal to the point of a fault, her keeping an oath to a dead woman is certainly proof of that, and she loved Renly. She loved him, and she wouldn’t have betrayed him.

She can’t explain that to her brother, though.

“Then let _Sansa_ live,” she practically begs, “Let another member of the kingsguard represent the crown, and challenge Brienne of Tarth later. Leave Sansa out of it!” She can’t watch her sweet, sweet Sansa die for her brother’s vengeance. She can’t let her beautiful, sweet lover meet her father’s end.

Margaery didn’t intend to fall in love with the naïve, broken girl, but she did. And now there’s no turning back.

She should have figured out someone to represent Sansa earlier like she’d planned. She hadn’t, because she was afraid the Lannisters would suspect their treachery if she did, afraid that they would not allow her to marry Tommen, but she regrets it now. If anyone but Brienne of Tarth were representing her, Loras would not be so hellbent on representing the crown.

“I made an oath,” Loras says.

“Bullshit,” Margaery says. It’s a load of shit and they both know it. But Loras can’t explain why he really wants her dead. He can’t explain to her that he loved Renly any more than she can explain to him that she loves Sansa.

“I have to do this, Margaery,” he says, a desperate look in his eyes. There’s a hint of remorse there, but there’s also too much determination to stop him.

“Do what you will,” she grinds out, turning away from him to look out the window. The view from any given window in the Red Keep is the same: the run down, thatch roofs of the houses of King’s Landing with the tiniest glimpse of the sea. Margaery tired of it quickly. She can hear Loras turning away from her, and he says softly.

”I will win, Margaery,” he says, and then she hears his footsteps as he exits the room. Margaery does not know whether or not the thought brings her comfort.

Margaery will lose either her lover or her brother to this, and somehow, she suspects that she will end up losing them both.

 

* * *

 

 

As soon as she can feels like an eternity. Sansa is not sure if it is because she cannot see the sun, or because she now has something to hope for, but the hours tick by slower than ever, even though she sleeps to pass the time. She’s sprawled out on her scratchy cot when Brienne finally returns. Sansa’s almost sure that she’s daydreaming, until she hears Brienne’s voice.

“My lady,” she says, and Sansa almost smiles at her.

“Brienne,” Sansa says.

“The Lannisters wish to move you to a cell closer to the surface until the trial,” she says. Sansa feels something that’s almost like happiness. She’ll be one step closer to the sunlight.

 

Brienne doesn’t leave her for a while. They don’t speak either, not for the longest time. It’s a companionable silence, really. Sansa doesn’t feel like she has to speak to alleviate any awkward feelings, but she does. She wants to know.

“How did you come into my mother’s service?” she asks softly.

“I served King Renly,” she says, “I was a member of his Rainbow Guard.” She pauses a moment, obviously trying to put her thoughts into words. Brienne isn’t particularly good at that, but Sansa doesn’t mind the silence. She’s started to feel comfortable with the other woman. Maybe she shouldn’t, maybe she shouldn’t trust the other woman at all, but she’s lost too much in her life. Her fate rests on the shoulders of a single trial, and she’s more willing to bet on Brienne of Tarth saving her than the Lannisters finding her innocent.

“He was murdered,” she says, though she sounds uncertain of it, sounds uncertain how to phrase it, “And your lady mother convinced me to leave with her. I swore myself to her service.”

“And then she asked me to bring Jaime Lannister to Kings Landing in exchange for you and your sister,” she says.The way that Brienne says Jaime Lannister lets her know that the other woman loves him. It might not be romantic, but Sansa can tell that it’s strong. She does not ask for further information, because she doesn’t feel like she should. If Brienne wants to tell her more, then she will. A slightly more awkward period of silence follows.

“How have you been?” Brienne asks.

Sansa cracks a smile at her.

“Better since you arrived,” she says, with a hint of humor. Her gaelor knocks on her door angrily soon after, demanding that her visitor leave.

“I will see you soon, my lady,” she says. The woman sounds more confident now, more comfortable with Sansa herself. And Sansa feels more comfortable with the other woman as well. She hopes that they will be able to actually get to know each other. But then again, Sansa hopes for a lot of things that never come true.

 

 

The trial comes both too soon and not soon enough, and by the time it rolls around, Sansa almost feels guilty letting Brienne fight for her. Sansa’s life isn’t worth much to her anymore, and she’s asking another woman to possibly give hers up for her own. She can’t well take it back, though, as Brienne and the royal party escort her, in handcuffs to the tourney grounds.

The tourney grounds are not as green as they were when she attended the tourney in honor of her father, but she doesn’t find this surprising. Autumn has started to fall into place, and the grass has started to turn from a bright, healthy green to a muted, brownish shade. Sansa knows that winter is just around the corner, _winter is coming,_ and the thought brings her a little comfort.

 

The two circle each other, sizing the other up, and Loras Tyrell deals a swift blow in the direction of Brienne’s head that she easily deflects. His brutal blows come in quick succession, seeming less like a choreographed dance and more like a meat hacking contest. The Knight of Flowers no longer seems handsome and gallant. He seems vengeful and irrational. Sweat drips down his brow while blood flows from a cut on his lips. His eyes light with an animalistic fire. Murder nests in his eyes.

He doesn’t care if she dies, as long as Brienne dies too.

She wonders what Margaery thinks of this. She wonders if the other girl even cares. Worry is written across the girl’s features, but whether it is for Loras or for Sansa herself she isn’t sure. She isn’t even sure why she cares.

Brienne blocks each of his blows in turn, and deals a harsh blow to his side. He stumbles back in pain as the crowd cries out.

“Do you yield,” Brienne asks calmly.

“Never,” he grinds out, the vengeful fire burning in his eyes, and he jolts forward, sending another blow Brienne’s way. She beats back the brunt of it, but enough of it collides with the woman’s shoulder that it’s likely to leave a hefty bruise. Brienne continues to block his flurry of attack smoothly, like batting away a particularly troublesome fly. The blood trickles down his armor like a steady fall of rain. His breathing is ragged, rapid and shallow. He looks exhausted, as he ought to be, he’s been using his full strength against an equal swordswoman the entire match.

She blocks another blow, and returns it in kind. Loras is too tired to stop it, and it collides with his stomach.

 

Loras Tyrell falls down onto the dying grass. He does not get up again.

 

“Sansa of the Houses Lannister and Stark has been found innocent of the crimes brought against her,” the High Septon declares. Cersei Lannister sends her a look with murder in her eyes, but Sansa doesn’t care. She’s going to live. Her gaelor takes out the keys from his belt and undoes her cuffs. They clatter to the ground in front of her feet. 

 

Brienne actually smiles at her, a big wide smile that lights up her face and makes her look quite handsome as she scoops her into a hug. The woman’s armor doesn’t feel comfortable, but the hug feels like the most wonderful thing in the world. Her tears fall like Loras’s blood as she wraps her arms more tightly around the other woman.

It’s almost like a song, with the fair maiden and her knight, but Brienne is more like an older sister to Sansa. Perhaps, if Margaery hadn’t already stomped on her heart, or perhaps if Brienne hadn’t fallen for the Kingslayer, but Sansa tries not to dwell on what-ifs. She’ll lose her life to them if she lets them continue.

Right now, she’s to keep her life. Later, she will figure out what to do with it.

 

 

She hugs Brienne a little bit tighter and drinks in the victory.


End file.
